“What he wants? You mean me? And why in the world would you assume that?”
“You don’t exactly give me reason to doubt it,” Sebastian returned hotly, eyes flashing. “I have eyes and ears. He obviously still likes you, and you like him, too, judging by the way you blush every time he calls.” Lily’s hands flew to her cheeks, which were indeed warm, and growing warmer as Sebastian went on, almost ranting as he spat out his words like bitter accusations. “Mr. Doofusface, with the smooth manners and suits and good-guy act. How am I supposed to compete with that? I’m messed up. Tainted. Broken. I know I’m no good for you, but he used you and lied to you, and I wouldn’t have to protect you from him if you’d just remember that.” By the time he had finished, he was standing, fists clenched, breathing hard. Madam Barrington sat still as stone, with Sir Kipling alert on her lap, yellow eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.
Lily slowly stood to meet Sebastian’s burning gaze, her embarrassment turning to shock and anger that vibrated through her. “Used me like you’ve been using me since the moment we met to accomplish your little witchy jobs? Lied to me like you’ve lied to me over and over to ‘protect’ me?” Sebastian flinched, the anger in his eyes mixing with guilt. “Yes, you are messed up. You’re broken and tainted by your mistakes as well as bad things you couldn’t control. But I don’t care. I never have, because broken things can always heal if you’d only trust me, or someone, or anyone at all!” Her voice rose, becoming hysterical. “But you won’t. You won’t let me in. You act like you want to be…to be”—her voice caught and she stifled a sob—“more than a friend. But you still keep me at arms length. Why? You’ve saved my life and risked your own again and again, but you can’t manage to be honest with me? You’ve fought by my side, but you can’t trust me to take care of myself? Do you really think I’m that helpless? Is that why you won’t let me in, because I’m too inept for you to take me seriously?” Unwanted tears streamed down her cheeks and she took a gasping breath. She was drowning in a torrent of emotion that she didn’t know what to do with. She hated this helpless feeling as her body, heart, and mind went haywire without her permission. Why should she care what Sebastian thought about her? It shouldn’t matter.
But it did.
“Lily—no—it’s, it’s not like that at all,” Sebastian croaked, eyes now wild and panicked, every trace of anger gone as if it had never been. His hand reached out toward her, pleading.
But she was done. She couldn’t take any more feelings, any more talking, any more existing in the presence of other human beings. If he touched her, she would shatter into a thousand pieces. Or maybe punch him. She wasn’t sure which. So, she did the only thing she could think of. Spinning on her heels, she rushed out of the library and into the hall, only dully registering the thump of paws on wood that indicated Sir Kipling had jumped down from Madam Barrington’s lap and was running after her.
She didn’t care.
Her mother’s astonished face flashed past, peering out of the dining room, mouth opening to call after her in confusion.
Lily ignored her.
Tears blurring her vision, she raced out the front door, fumbling with her car keys. She needed to be home, alone, where there were no people. Where she would be safe from everything. Where she would be in control.
Yes, everything would be all right if she could just get home.
Lily woke the next morning to sunlight falling across her face. Her whole body was stiff, her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks felt crusted with layers of salt. Soggy tissues littered the floor by the bed—the trash can was all the way across the room. She lay on top of the covers, curled in a fetal position, a warmth resting against the small of her back. Sitting up and twisting around, she found Sir Kipling, awake and alert, watching her. Not wanting to talk, she looked away, and her eyes fell on the elegant tux jacket still hanging from her closet door. The sight of it brought a lump to her throat and a tightness to her chest, so she turned her eyes to the floor, keeping them there as she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.
In the shower, she turned the temperature up as hot as she could stand and let the soothing beat of water on her body clear her mind. As she raised her hands to sweep her wet hair out of her face, she caught a glimpse of the silver charm bracelet on her wrist. A wan smile touched her lips as she remembered the tender affection in Sebastian’s eyes when he’d given it to her. But that image was followed closely by a more recent memory of his dark, accusing stare, and she dropped her hand, trying to empty her mind and simply enjoy the hot shower.
Unfortunately, showering, then drying off and proceeding with her normal morning routine, involved a lot of hand movement. Every time her wrist entered her vision she couldn’t help but look at the bracelet, which then kicked her traitorous brain into overdrive, endlessly analyzing every word and gesture of the night before, trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. She tried to ignore the leaden weight in her stomach—the sinking suspicion she was inept at relationships and everything was her fault—but the effort only drained her further.
Halfway through a feeble and distracted attempt at yoga, she decided she couldn’t take the endless cycle anymore. She had exhausted her capacity to feel things and needed to recharge. Reluctantly—as if the act meant more than simply giving her brain some peace—she unfastened the bracelet and tucked it carefully away in her jewelry box.
With a much firmer grip on her renegade thoughts, she finished her yoga, fixed a breakfast of poached eggs and toast, and sat down to a steaming mug of hearty Irish Breakfast tea. Sir Kipling jumped up on the chair opposite her, standing on his hind legs to sniff the empty ice cream container and crumb-covered plate left over from the night before. Finding nothing appetizing to a cat, he settled back down on the chair and stared at her from across the table, his eyes barely higher than the surface of the polished wood so that only the top half of his grumpy expression was visible. His reproachful look was, no doubt, a result of her failure to share her milk with him—milk which he knew was for tea-purposes only. But it was milk. And he was a cat. Thus, the reproachful look.
Several minutes into their staring contest, Lily finally cracked, a reluctant grin forming on her face. “You know, you look like an angry gnome peeking out of a hole in the garden,” Lily said, sniggering into her tea.
Her cat sniffed disdainfully and jumped off the chair, showing her his backside as he sauntered over to his food bowl and bent to eat, as if that was what he’d intended to do all along.
Rolling her eyes, Lily rose and got the milk back out, then gave her feline a splash of it in the empty bowl beside his food and water. “There. Happy? You know milk and cream aren’t good for cats anyway.”
“Humph,” was his only reply as he hunkered down over her meager offering.
Lily shook her head and replaced the milk, not minding her cat’s grumpiness because she was too busy being grateful he hadn’t brought up what had happened last night. The fact that he hadn’t made her relax considerably, as if his silence gave her permission to put the matter aside for now and focus on…everything else—like what Roger Darthe was up to and what they would find at the factory. The reminder pulled her lips down into a frown as she cleaned up from breakfast. Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing, which made her frown even more deeply, since the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone. Picking up the offending object, she glanced at the caller ID and let out a breath, relieved at who it was not.
“Good morning, Ethel.”
“Good morning, Lily. I simply wanted to remind you of our appointment with Agent Grant. Are you…currently well enough to join me?”
Lily cringed at the awkward pause, but was grateful her mentor did no more than that. No prying questions, no show of pity, no attempts to bring up her spectacular exit the night before. Madam Barrington was both private and professional, and treated others as she preferred to be treated. That was something Lily had always appreciated, an
d it was one reason for their excellent working relationship—and friendship.
“I am quite fine, thank you for checking. I’ll see you at noon.”
“Very well. Good day.”
“Goodbye.”
Lily looked down at her cat, who was trying to savor his last few drops of milk. “Finish up, Kip. We’re going witch hunting.”
“Do I get extra milk if I catch one?”
“Nope.”
“You’re no fun. No fun at all.”
Lily just shook her head and headed to her room to get ready.
Their meeting place was a small local tavern at the intersection of Moreland and Euclid Avenues in Little Five Points, a district on the east side of Atlanta known as a melting pot of sub-cultures. The tavern’s courtyard under the trees was a popular place among the locals to sit and drink craft beers while watching traffic go by. This time of year, however, the sky was slate grey and the biting air too cold for such pleasantries; all the tables and chairs had been packed away and the trees were bare and sad-looking.
Approaching the tavern, Lily spotted Madam Barrington through one of the windows. The wizard was sitting alone at a table, back straight and cane propped nearby. A knot in Lily’s stomach eased, inordinately relieved that Sebastian was absent, though she felt guilty for even having such a thought. She made her way quickly inside and out of the cold, knowing Sir Kipling would do as he pleased—either sneak in after her and hide in some shadowed corner, or else prowl around the premises, sharp eyes on the lookout. She had long ago given up trying to keep him from following her everywhere.
Madam Barrington already had two glasses of water at the table, and Lily’s mouth twitched upward, knowing her mentor’s disdain for most any beverage but hot tea. Neither this tavern’s famed selection of alcohol, nor its small menu of coke products and sweet tea would do for the elder wizard. Lily sat and sipped her water, watching her mentor keep a close eye on their surroundings in expectation of their guest.
“Assuming Agent Grant fulfills his promise,” Madam Barrington eventually said, voice low, “I intend to bring him with us to the factory. I doubt Roger Darthe left any physical evidence behind, but we may glean some information from that which is unseen and leave our good federal agent to poke about with his mundane tools.”
Lily nodded, having already guessed this part of her mentor’s plan. It was what she would have suggested herself, had she thought she could do so without getting her head bitten off. Better to let her mentor take the lead and avoid further conflict.
“While we are waiting, there is another matter which we need to discuss, though perhaps this is not the most appropriate place.”
Lily’s gut clenched and a flush began creeping up her neck. She knew it. Madam Barrington was going to bring up last night, and Lily didn’t know if she could handle it, or even stand thinking about it.
“That ring of yours—or Sebastian’s, as the case may be. It is much more than it seems, and it is past time I do a thorough examination of it.”
Relief flooded her and Lily nodded, all too happy to agree, considering what she had been expecting. She suddenly realized that she still had all of Sebastian’s rings—the wooden ring crafted in Pip’s memory and the Dee family ring in addition to the Ring of Cacophony—tucked into a secret pocket inside her spelled skirt currently hanging in her closet. She had hurriedly slipped them off Sebastian’s limp hand and stuffed them there right before her friend had been whisked away by the ER nurses. They were far too valuable to risk getting lost or mishandled by mundanes, had one of the nurses removed them in the process of his examination. With everything that had happened over the past few days, Lily had completely forgotten to give them back, and Sebastian had apparently been too traumatized or distracted by his injuries to ask for them. “The ring is at my apartment. Perhaps we can stop by after investigating the factory?”
“Very good.” Madam Barrington nodded. A moment later, her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, gaze fixing on something over Lily’s shoulder. Lily knew without looking that Richard had walked into the tavern, and she resisted the urge to turn. She didn’t care a whit for the man, and only wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Shoulders tense, she waited for what seemed like ages before she felt him approach and halt beside their table.
“Ms. Barrington, Miss Singer, thank you for meeting me.”
Lily nodded, but didn’t look up. Instead, she took another sip from her glass and kept her eyes on her mentor, who was watching their guest with a poker face worthy of Vegas. When neither of them said anything, Richard finally pulled out a chair and sat, laying a manila envelope down on the well-worn surface of the tavern table. He was dressed in professional suit and tie, and was accompanied by a faint scent of sandalwood. Lily kept her breathing even, refusing to think about why the scent of Richard’s cologne made her shoulders relax just a bit, and definitely not thinking about how nice it would be if Sebastian paid more attention to his wardrobe. Such thoughts led to too much confusion, and she simply didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with it at the moment.
“I brought what you asked,” Richard said, voice barely audible above the clink of glasses and murmur of voices. He slid the envelope toward Madam Barrington, but did not remove his fingers. “If my superiors find out—if anything happens and it points back to me—” He stopped, face grim.
“Wizards have remained out of the public eye for thousands of years, Agent Grant. I can assure you our powers of discretion far exceed your own.”
Lily worked to keep her face straight at the utter dryness of her mentor’s voice.
“I…appreciate your reassurance. May I ask what exactly you intend to do with this information?”
“Ensure peace.”
Richard’s mouth turned down. “And what of Rex Morganson? He is guilty of murder, kidnapping, fraud—the list goes on.”
Lily dropped her eyes to her glass of water, not wanting to know if Richard glanced her way or not.
“The civil authorities are powerless to prosecute him, Agent Grant. Only wizards have the capability to bring him to justice, and believe me, we shall.” Lily did look up at that, and the stone-cold expression on the older wizard’s face sent a shiver down her spine. “So, unless you intend to put a bullet in his head, I suggest you forget this matter entirely and focus on cases you have the ability to solve.”
The FBI agent’s brow furrowed and he looked away, unhappiness written all over his face. But he did finally lift his fingers from the envelope. Madam Barrington picked it up and withdrew the paper inside, giving it a long, hard look before returning it to its place.
“Come, Agent Grant. We have a crime scene to investigate.”
The factory looked much different in the late morning light than it had last Friday evening when she had snuck in alone, terrified but burning with fury and determination. It didn’t seem so large now, nor so ominous. The building’s brick facade, complete with boarded-up windows and crumbling mortar, stood out sharply in the chill air.
Lily and Madam Barrington waited in front of the main entrance, examining their surroundings and feeling for magic, while Richard walked around the outside of the building and searched the ground as he took pictures of footprints or whatever other signs he found interesting. They had struck a bargain which left both sides dissatisfied: Richard got to take pictures before they touched or moved anything, but any magical items and records they found would be leaving with Madam Barrington. Of course, Richard didn’t know about Sir Kipling, and Lily saw no reason to enlighten him as to her cat’s own investigative abilities—and the fact that the feline had already slipped inside and would warn them if he found anything they wouldn’t want Richard to see.
By the time Richard—and Sir Kipling—finally gave them the go-ahead to venture inside, they had been able to confirm that there was no sign of wizard magic anywhere, and no fresh taint of the demonic. Richard, still skeptical of “wizards and their tricks,” wasn’t satisfied wi
th her assurance that no one remained inside and went in first, gun drawn. He tried to insist they wait outside until he had cleared the building, but Madam Barrington simply gave him a withering look and swept in after him, her long skirts swishing quietly across the dust-covered floor. Lily herself had opted for a plain blouse, black slacks, and black boots for their trip—she had finally caved and bought some “professional working clothes” that bridged the gap between her own high standards and the reality of what she was often dragged into. She couldn’t rely on just one set of spelled clothes, no matter how clean they seemed to keep themselves. One of these days she needed to get in contact with Emmaline and see about commissioning a few more magical outfits. There was no way she could afford a full wardrobe of the tailored clothes, but a spare set might be within her budget.
The next few hours were frustrating and tedious. Lily had already given Richard an account—albeit abridged—of the happenings of Friday night, since Madam Barrington had insisted they all ride in her ancient Buick to the factory. While the three of them made their slow way around the building’s interior, Richard peppered Lily with questions, pausing only to snap photos and jot down notes in a pocket-sized spiral-bound notebook. She did her best to answer with as little mention of magic as possible. She also left out Sir Kipling and Pip entirely. Trying to keep everything straight in her head was exhausting, but as long as Richard’s focus stayed on her, Madam Barrington was free to cast detection spells in peace.
The spells did not reveal much more than what Lily already knew, though her mentor did spend quite a bit of time examining the unique signatures of Pip’s fae magic as well as the unknown magic that inhabited Lily’s ward bracelet. Madam Barrington was able to confirm one reassuring fact, however: there had been no wizards in the building but Lily, and no spells cast but hers, which meant John Faust and Morgan le Fay were not involved. At least, not directly.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 20